


Misunderstanding

by Anonymous



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Community: cabinpres_fic, Gen, M/M, PTSD, discussion of past sexual abuse, one-sided Douglas/Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-20
Updated: 2011-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-19 15:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt about Martin's previous job: http://cabinpres-fic.livejournal.com/728.html?thread=493016#t493016</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I'm so sorry, this is probably not what you wanted, but once the idea caught hold it just wouldn't give me peace until it was written.

The evening had gone on rather well, Douglas thought. For a while there, he'd even got Martin to talk about something not related to planes, which was a marked improvement over Martin not talking about planes by not talking about anything at all. Of course, Douglas was charming enough for the both of them, and could fill conversation gaps before they were even born, but it was still nicer when one could have a dialogue rather than a monologue with the person one was trying to seduce.

Douglas had chosen the restaurant so that the drive back would take them past his house rather than Martin's flat first; when he took the familiar left turn to his street he leaned over casually and made his opening move.

"So, Captain, my Captain. Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?" He imbued the question with the requisite flirtatiousness, mixing it with just the right dose of auto-ironic amusement to make it obvious that he was using the cliché knowingly - because he was Douglas Richardson and he could make any old cliché sound good.

"Erm, yeah, sure, I-I guess, yeah," Martin babbled. Oh, smooth as always, Douglas reflected. He didn't say it, though - no need to give Martin even more of a complex. He was rather hoping he could raise Martin's confidence in other ways, once they got to the action.

He hoped, at least, that Martin recognised the line for what it was - for all he knew, Martin might actually ask for a coffee with nothing in it and that would be that. He didn't think so, though - the way Martin blushed sometimes, and became tongue-tied around him when Douglas unleashed his arsenal of seductive looks, the furtive glances... Douglas was fairly sure they were on the same page as to where this was leading.

* * *

Douglas hadn't expected Martin to be very good at this, and as low expectations went, he wasn't disappointed. Martin held his arms awkwardly to his sides, and his lips were hesitant and slack on Douglas'. Douglas carded a hand through Martin's hair, cradling his head for a better angle; he slipped his tongue delicately past Martin's lips, to see if he could get him more enthusiastic - and that was when Martin froze entirely. Douglas leaned back to look at him, and Martin sprang away, wide-eyed and babbling.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this, I-I-I can't!"

Well, that was certainly not the reaction Douglas had been hoping for, or indeed expecting.

Martin gestured between them, his hand flailing. "I thought I could, but I can't!" He took one more hasty step backwards, his eyes widening when he backed into a wall. "I- I can't..." His breath was harsh, and his voice broke on the last word.

It was like a cold shower and Douglas felt truly chilled. He straightened up.

"Martin, a no is a no and I can recognise it as such," he said, not trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"Of course," Martin said, barely audible. If anything, his breaths became even more erratic. He wrapped his arms around himself, leaning against the wall, looking somewhere off in the distance.

"Though I do wish you'd made up your mind earlier in the proceedings. Would have saved the both of us a lot of embarrassment."

"I'm sorry," Martin whimpered. "Oh, God."

Douglas was upset and unnerved. Of all the people to reject him, it had to be Martin, and he had to make such a drama out of it too, as if getting propositioned by Douglas Richardson was the most horrible thing that could have happened to him. He was so winded - pity he couldn't storm out and slam the door, but it was his house after all - that he almost missed what Martin said next. He almost missed the way that Martin's breath caught on a choked sob.

"I'll... I'll hand in my resignation tomorrow," Martin whispered. His voice was that of a man who offers to be executed by firing squad, as opposed to being hanged, and his words ended on a broken, ragged whimper.

Once Douglas noticed that, and heard what Martin said, he couldn't help but notice other things that made him pause and forget about his own offended pride. Martin's breaths were too rapid and shallow, he was hunching in on himself, slumping to the floor. And he was crying, crying and hyperventilating. It looked too much like a panic attack for Douglas to write it off as Martin getting cold feet.

"Oh, Captain," Douglas said cautiously, taking a step towards him, "don't you think resigning is a bit extreme?"

The answer came shakily, in a ragged voice, but with enough venom to make Douglas stop his careful advance.

"I'd rather," Martin's voice caught on the words, "I'd rather leave than be _made_ to leave."

Ah, so this was about job safety. "Really, Martin, I thought we'd established that I am extremely confident in my masculinity. One itty-bitty rejection doesn't even make a blip on my radar. Certainly not enough to make you leave."

"Like you didn't make the others leave?" Martin shot back.

"What on Earth are you on about?"

"Arthur told me that the pilots you didn't like just somehow left. Don't tell me they all just decided to resign of their own accord!"

Douglas tried to make sense of this, and when he did, anger got the best of him again.

"And you thought..." he began, disbelievingly. "You thought I drove them away because they wouldn't _bend over_ for me?"

"Oh, as if you'd be the first!" Martin spat out bitterly, still not looking at Douglas. His fists were clenched and white-knuckled. His lower lip trembled and twisted in a grimace, and then he began sobbing and shaking, face red and shining with tears where it wasn't hidden behind his hands.

The hatred in his words made Douglas flinch; and then the full meaning of what Martin had said sunk in.

Good Lord. Douglas stared, aghast, while his entire view of that disastrous evening shifted and realigned to take in this new information. He sat himself on the floor, keeping a safe distance from Martin, and was silent for a while. Martin's sobs were the only sounds in the room.

"I'm so sorry, Martin," Douglas said eventually. "I had no idea." He paused, watching Martin carefully. "Who _was_ the first?" he asked, as softly as he could.

Martin shook his head wordlessly.

Douglas hazarded a guess. "Your previous job?"

Martin gave a small nod. He still didn't speak, but his sobs intensified.

Douglas sighed and got up from the floor with a huff of effort. "This calls for tea," he said, somewhat lamely. In truth, this would have called for alcohol, lots of it, but he wasn't going to break his ten years fast, and he wasn't going to get Martin drunk either. Not for this.

When he returned with the tea, Martin's sobs had subsided. His eyes were almost as red as his nose, and the sleeves of his shirt looked soggy.

Martin clutched the teacup like a lifeline. He made no move to stand up, ignoring - maybe not even seeing - Douglas' gesture towards the armchair, so Douglas returned to his previous place on the floor. Instinct told him to wait, so he waited.

"He... he wanted to make it feel like... we were together. Said I should make an effort to be more..." Martin shrugged and gestured vaguely with his hand. "He took me out to dinners and paid for them, and drove me home and... I'd rather he'd just have- got it over with, but he said he wanted a 'relationship'." He scowled as he bit out the last word.

Douglas rubbed at his eyes tiredly, revising his own interactions with Martin for the past months. God, and he thought he'd been doing both of them a favour. Martin had probably seen a repeat of the old pattern, and tried to adapt, tried to do what he thought Douglas wanted from him, and Douglas had been too caught up in his own need for companionship to notice.

"I quit when I couldn't take it anymore," Martin was saying. "I didn't want to stop flying, that's- that's what I want, that's the only thing I have, but..." Martin took a deep breath and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "And then I was lucky enough to find _this_ job, and I was even a captain," he finished, with a pale ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Job?" Douglas inquired mildly, testing the field. He was trying for humour, because he didn't know any other ways out, but Martin took it the wrong way. His face fell again.

"I'm going to have to leave, aren't I?"

"Absolutely not," Douglas said firmly. "I was leading up to a quip about it being a very expensive hobby rather than a job. Or a charity, considering that your dedication to your hobby is probably the only thing that keeps MJN in business... I don't want to hear any more nonsense about anyone resigning from any dingy airdots. We need you, Martin, and..." Douglas wanted to offer some comfort, but he didn't dare touch Martin yet, not when he was still so shaken. Kind words came harder to him; but then, Martin couldn't have found his words very easy to say either. "And you're our friend."

Martin's eyes darted briefly to his.

"Even now?" he whispered.

"Of course. I only wish you could have thought the same about me."

Martin's face twisted with guilt, and he hid behind his hands again.

"I'm so sorry, Douglas. I don't know how I could... I- It's just, you never invited me anywhere before the divorce, and I wasn't thinking clearly, I didn't _think_ -" He started crying again, but without the desperate panic from before. He finally looked at Douglas. "I'm so sorry."

"Shh, it's all right, I understand, Martin, I do. You're right, you weren't thinking, not rationally anyway, and it's _not your fault_. Shh." Douglas finally put a hand on Martin's arm, squeezing very gently, and Martin didn't flinch or pull away. "It's all right," Douglas repeated softly.

"Just so you know," he said after a while, "I persuaded Nigel to leave, at a glorious 68 years of age, because he couldn't see the instruments without a magnifier anymore. And I made Jack leave... Okay, I made him leave because I didn't like him, but you wouldn't have liked him either, trust me on that. _I_ did the logbooks. Me."

Martin huffed.

"And there was only one other pilot before Jack, Andy, and he left because he found a job at Air England, the lucky bastard."

"Oh, so no one made him leave?"

"No one can prove anything," Douglas said lightly.

* * *

"He got booted, you know," Martin said after a while. Even without an introduction, it was obvious who he was talking about. "Lost his licence for good. I suppose he tried it with someone braver than me."

Douglas rubbed Martin's arm gently.

"Don't, Martin. You got away from there alive, that _is_ brave, and that's all that matters."

"I _ran_ away. I didn't even let them know I was quitting."

"Better than they deserved."

"And I got a job where I'm working for free."

"Better than we deserve, too."

Martin half-smiled at that.

"But I mean it, Martin. Don't blame yourself."

Martin turned away, smile fading.

Douglas fished in his pocket for his phone, and retrieved a number.

"Look. You don't have to, but I'd like you to talk to her." He preempted Martin's automatic refusal. "She's really good, Martin. She's the one who got me off the booze, and made me stay away from it."

"I can't afford a good shrink."

"My treat. So to say." Martin looked up warily again, and Douglas sighed. "Fine, have it your way. First crack at the cheese tray for as long as you go to see her. And I _mean_ the first crack, not sneaking off into the galley at the crack of dawn, or getting Arthur to stash away the good stuff for you."

A faint smile graced Martin's lips again.

"No, never doing that again."

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not, but... remember the Roquefort?"

"Yes."

"It wasn't really Roquefort."

"Oh God," Douglas said, clutching theatrically at his stomach.

"Hey, we survived," Martin said, with the same small smile.

"That we did," Douglas agreed. "That we did."


End file.
